


This Is Me Trying

by Galaxy_Collector



Category: Sterek (Fandom), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 12 Step Programs, Alcoholics Anonymous, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Taylor Swift, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25510456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galaxy_Collector/pseuds/Galaxy_Collector
Summary: After being gone for a couple years, Stiles Stilinski has made his way back to Beacon Hills, determined to make amends for everything he's done.And he's starting with Derek Hale.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	This Is Me Trying

Stiles hadn’t moved in over five minutes, and he knew Derek had seen him. The curtain had fluttered somewhere around minute two, but he hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to walk up the front steps of the newly remodeled Hale House and knock on the front door. 

He should. That’s why he was here. Make amends. Steps eight and nine. But he couldn’t make his legs go. They were suddenly made of cement. 

Stiff. 

Stuck. 

Just like him. 

It’d been over two years. Two whole years since he’d run from Beacon Hills as fast as he could. Not looking back. Not calling. Not checking in ever. With anyone. 

All that reflection and therapy had made him see  _ why _ , but it didn’t make it easier. That trauma was still there. It just resided in his head instead of his heart now. He was aware of it. He could stop himself from drowning his memories and nightmares with alcohol. But it still felt like a punch to the chest if he thought about it for too long. 

When he’d left, he’d been on a path that led to success. Or the success others saw for him. And he’d taken all that potential and wasted it. And he’d found himself so far ahead of the curve, he was back where he started. 

_ “Derek, cut it the fuck out,” Stiles spat at him. “Why do you even care? I mean, I’m just… ya know, me.”  _

_ “You are you, Stiles. And that’s exactly why I care,” he said, his words dripping with an emotion Stiles couldn’t place.  _

_ He opened his mouth a few times, trying to think of words to fill the silence, but he just kept closing it and opening it again. No noise ever coming out. Making himself look more fish than man. Or boy, depending on how you viewed Stiles.  _

_ He’d certainly put up with more than his average share of shit. Which is what this particular fight had started off about. No one saw him as anything other than the fragile human. And it obviously didn’t matter how many times he saved his damn self either.  _

_ “And exactly why I shouldn’t,” Derek mumbled finally. _

_ And just like that, he turned and left, slamming the door to his bedroom without another word. It shook the walls and rang in Stiles’ ears long after it fell silent everywhere else. As he walked out the front door, he could still sense the pressure of the words, spoken and unspoken, in his chest.  _

_ He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t deal with this. He had to get as far away as possible.  _

_ Beacon Hills was a death trap. And Derek Hale was the bait.  _

Stiles swung the keyring around his finger a few times as he looked up at the window again. Lights were still on. A better sign than he expected at this point. He knew what he deserved coming back here after all this time and after everything that had gone down between them. And this was not it.  Because the reality was that Derek should’ve stormed through the front door and ripped his throat out with the same ferocity Stiles had used when he’d torn his heart to pieces. 

_ Stiles sat up on the edge of Derek’s bed, running his hands over his face as the sunlight filtered in from the nearby window. His bare chest being exposed to the slight chill in the air caused him to shiver, but he ignored it. He wasn’t ready to move, to face the day. Or any of the consequences that came with what had happened last night.  _

_ Mostly because he couldn’t remember all of it.  _

_ Scratch that.  _

_ He couldn’t remember  _ most _ of it.  _

_ But he touched his lips as they suddenly burned with the ghost of Derek’s own pressed up against them.  _ That _ he remembered. And the feel of Derek beneath him as they tumbled onto his bed together, a tangle of limbs. That he remembered too.  _

_ The edges of his mouth turned up into a smirk as some of the other images from last night flooded his mind.  _

_ Well, he remembered the good parts, at least.  _

_ But then the panic set in.  _

_ He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t be found in Derek Hale’s bed. The Alpha’s bed. This was wrong on so many levels. And he couldn’t imagine Derek would like it all that much either. He didn’t strike Stiles as someone who wanted to be shoved out of the closet in that manner, especially when his pack had a habit of barging into his house with no warning. _

_ He had to leave. _

Stiles cringed. He still couldn’t believe he’d been  _ that _ guy. The kind to fuck and then leave without even a note or a text the next morning. The guy that ignored everything that had happened and pretended it was all completely normal. 

God, he hated himself for that. 

Not that he’d gotten any better as time went on, but that first time had been the worst. The pain and hurt and betrayal he’d seen in Derek’s eyes each time they saw each other had been the real cause for Stiles’ problem in the first place. If he hadn’t been so convinced it was Derek that wasn’t ready, and not himself, he might have done the soul-searching necessary to get to the root of his problem and get ahead of the storm that had been brewing for years. 

The one that had almost killed them all. 

_ “What the hell happened?”  _

_ “Wrapped his car around a telephone pole,” the paramedic said. “I don’t know if…” _

_ The automatic doors slid open and the cold air made him gasp. But he couldn’t make the noise that usually accompanied that feeling. It was bizarre. He wanted to move. Maybe pull the sheet barely covering his mangled chest up to his chin or something, but he couldn’t do anything. His fingers, his toes, even his head weren’t responding. He was trapped.  _

_ Trapped in his own body.  _

_ Well, he’d certainly been here before. And he knew it could always be worse. At least this time he was alone in his head.  _

_ “Oh my God, Stiles,” Melissa shrieked from somewhere near him. “Oh my God, did you call his dad? Or Derek? Derek Hale. I should call…” _

_ “We don’t have time. We have to get him to surgery.” _

_ “Stiles, honey,” she said, grabbing his hand, “you gotta hang on, okay? You have to.”  _

_ She smoothed down his hair and he felt a tender kiss on his forehead, followed by a gentle spattering of tears in the same spot, as she raced alongside the gurney.  _ __  
_  
_ __ And then she was gone. 

Stiles opened his eyes slowly and started up the tiny cobblestone pathway that he knew Derek had created. Probably in an effort to make it more homey. He smiled at the idea of him toiling away on weekends, trying to make it all perfect. 

His forehead would’ve probably been scrunched up in frustration and concentration, making him seem way more menacing than was ever really the case. And Stiles gave a light chuckle as he skipped up the steps, his heart hammering away in his chest. 

He went to knock, but he stopped short. His hand floated in the air in front of the bright red painted wood, unsure if he could do this after all. Maybe he could try again, in a few hundred years or so. 

Yeah, yeah. That might work. 

_ Stiles groaned loudly as he opened his eyes, the excruciating and blinding pain searing through his body.  _

_ “You can’t keep doing this, Stiles,” Derek announced in a low voice nearby.  _

_ He rolled his head in the direction of the source. “Says you.” _

_ “Says everyone.” _

_ Stiles looked back to the ceiling and swallowed hard. He was being combative for no reason whatsoever. He knew he needed to stop. He had almost died. But he didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction. Especially when they were so convinced of their own rightness in the situation. Like they had contributed in one way or another to his own personal combination of shame, guilt, and searing resentment that had scorched his insides.  _

_ “Stiles…”  _

_ “Derek, just…,” he swallowed hard again. “Just stop, man. You and I both know you’re only here because of some misplaced feelings or something. I know I fucked up, okay? But stop pretending like this was ever about anything other than experimenting and sex for you. Stop trying to make it be more important. I know you feel bad. I know you see me as a kid. I get it. I grew up in front of you, but I don’t need you to protect me.”  _

_ Stiles knew he had the ability to wield his words like a knife if he wanted to, and he had done just that. At Derek no less. But it had been necessary.  _

_ He had to leave for real this time. He couldn’t turn around halfway out of town like the first time. And the second time. Or even the third time. He had to be serious. He had to get help. He had to move on.  _

_ From all of it. _

_ Derek didn’t say anything as he stood up and walked out the door. He had a tendency to do that when he was done talking, even if the other person had more to say. He’d gotten better at it lately, but Stiles had meant to set him back. He’d meant to destroy the trust they’d shared.  _

_ He just hated that it worked so well. He hated it for whoever found Derek Hale next. For whoever had to pick up those pieces and glue him back together.  _

_ Someone better than Stiles.  _

He cleared his throat and knocked, unsure of how long he’d been standing there anymore. Time had ceased to mean anything in this context. Like the whole world was frozen, waiting to see if he could really do this. 

The door swung open and Stiles’ breath caught in his throat at the sight of Derek. Same ole, same ole, apparently. His imagination had been blind, his senses dulled when it came to this man. Probably for his own sanity and safety more than anything, but with him standing here, Stiles realized he had never seen him clearly before. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, his lips set in a straight line. 

He nodded and pulled the coin out of his pocket, not knowing where else to start. He held out his hand and Derek’s eyebrows perked in question. 

Stiles didn’t say a word, though, as he put the heavy gold coin in his outstretched palm. “This is me trying,” he stated simply. 

Derek looked down at the coin, the one that had been Stiles’ own anchor in the same way he had been Derek’s once upon a time. He turned it over and read the inscription on the back, his eyes flitting over the lines that Stiles had memorized ages ago. The ones he recited each week in his meetings. 

He looked back up and blinked a few times before cocking his head to the side and giving Stiles a rare smile. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

Stiles nodded and stepped over the threshold, shoving his hands in his pockets. Well, at least in the nice, warm house he could apologize properly. 

Maybe more than once. 

**Author's Note:**

> I live off comments and kudos, so toss a coin to your fanfic author.
> 
> You can also hang out with me on Tumblr and request things here: [the-galaxy-collector](https://www.the-galaxy-collector.tumblr.com)
> 
> Or at my _Teen Wolf_ Discord Server here: [ The Beacon Hills Preserve](https://discord.gg/xm24uP6)


End file.
